100 Skeletons
by Hazy Jean
Summary: ---100 themes---1000 words---100 skeletons---Death Note short stories with appearances by my OC, Clara. Disclaimer: All original characters belong exclusively to Tsugumi Obha and Takeshi Obata. My shots at the 100 themes challenge.
1. 100 Skeletons

**{--100 Skeletons--}**

_My shot at the 100 Theme Challenge_

_Using Death Note, Of Course_

_When I have been stricken with unforgiving writers block, writing short scenes often helps to push my train back on its track. _

_I realized that these short scenes are some of my favorite, but I cannot find a place to slip them into Carrion. _

_So I decided to try this challenge!_

_After searching the wild, wacked web, I found my favorite theme challenge here:_

_.com/community/projects/913493/_

_So every once and a while I will post my short stories_

_For sanities sake, I developed some guidelines:_

_-All of them will be less than 1000 words-_

_-And I will be doing them out of order-_

_Still I will use the numbers that I found them in. _

_I hope you guys enjoy!_

_Hazy_

**P.S. If you haven't read my Death Note FanFic **_**Carrion, **_**please give it a go! **

**%100 satisfaction guaranteed!**

(In all seriousness though, don't quote me on that...)

(I am a devoted anime fan girl after all ;) )

(But then again, aren't we all?)


	2. 35 Forgotten

35. Forgotten

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"And? What about before?" Clara asked, spinning her pen expertly between her long fingers.

"Before? Before what?"

Rain. It fell from the clouded sky as Clara wrote letters to her mother, her father, and her aunt. She watched as the drops multiplied and multiplied. The storm was easily visible now; she could see each drop plummeting with the same grace as a winter snowfall.

The noise of it shook the window and pounded in her ears like a long forgotten song. AS much as it was an incorrigible inconvenience, the rain was a comfort. Nothing was as constant as rainfall. Nothing but the rain could intrude while offering shelter.

"I mean before you were a Shinigami," She clarified, the letters now abandoned.

She thought she heard Ryuk utter sigh, his rattling breath was as mournful as a dry sob.

"Who knows?" He growled. His head hung off the side of her bed; his lean body a light mass on the plain sheets.

Although Clara had her doubts about Rem, she knew that Ryuk was a male being. If his sloppy eating habits, dress, and defined muscles were not enough, his short, unrevealing answers only solidified his manliness.

Clara's rare bout of curiosity was hungry for answers and she was not easily deterred.

"Don't you know Ryuk?"

He failed to answer her and silence filled the room as thick as smoke. Ryuk was doing his best to ignore the girl. His mind was lost in the glee of Call to Arms IV. He did want to play another round with Light. He had never enjoyed killing with a pen and paper. He had found fake guns and blood stained knives a much more entertaining endeavor.

Clara glanced at the Shinigami. She was no longer disgusted by his gnarled body, ash white complexion, and nightmarish grin. Actually she found his presence somewhat comforting. To have someone she could talk to about the binds she was encased in, someone that could rag on Light's intensities, was comforting indeed.

Of course, she was worried about her growing indifference to Ryuk. However, it was the very least of her worries and something she chose not to dwell on.

"Ryuk, answer me!" She all but scolded, annoyed at his zipped lips.

"I don't know alright!" He lashed back, thrashing his arms wildly in the air.

But Clara wouldn't back down. "How could you not?"

"Huh." Ryuk croaked, overcoming his ancient emotion. "You assume that I was someone before this." He said, hands moving around his body.

"A _human_." He hissed the word as if it were poison on his indigo lips.

Clara locked eyes with the god of death. Besides the rotten yellow hue, there was nothing in his eye. No sign of life behind the large pupils, no flicker of light, no shadow of darkness. However, she was stead fast in her belief. She was not wrong. She would never allow herself to be wrong.

"No, all gods of death must have an origin." She concluded. She turned away from him unable to look into the vast nothingness for another second.

"Sorry sweetie, if I have an origin. I don't remember it." The Shinigami spat gruffly.

Clara's curiosity was beginning to wane in light of Ryuk's anger. He was usually so apathetic. More often than not he was the cause of frustration, the receiver of frustration, but never the one plagued by the anger.

She placed her hands on the edge of the desk, pushing herself up. She gathered her hair into a loose bun at the base of her neck. After scanning the desk once, and then twice for cautions sake, she picked up a small cup of chilling tea.

As she exited the room she paused, another thought brewing in her head. "I refuse to believe that you come from nothing." She said, knowing it would be her final word on the matter.

Ryuk waited until the door slid shut behind her. He was fascinated by her. She could slide in and out of the room in the same ghostly manner as he could. That Kiyomi Takada was similar.

_Light sure knows how to pick 'em._

He raised himself into a hunched sit, his wings protruding lazily from his back. His neck cracked like a dry bone as he craned his neck to the window.

123 years.

He had stopped counting at one hundred and twenty-three years, forty-four thousand eight hundred and ninety-five days, and hell knows how many minutes.

The time had been best to stop the count. He had known from the beginning when the count would end. It was the day the memories had died. He could feel them being lifted from the body that was given to him, his spirit flying free of the rot and desolation.

It wasn't a sudden exorcism. It wasn't a surprising happening. It didn't merit any sort of remembrance in its own right.

After all, the memories had already begun to fade. From the moment he had died, to the time when his ashes were revived and reformed, when the King of Shadow had bequeathed to him a black notebook inscribed will the power to steal life, to provoke death.

He chose to let the memories fade for they were of little use to him now. For a while, it was pleasant. He let go of fear and sorrow, grief and strife. Colors soon fell away and he was left with black and white. Pain and sickness too, left without a moan or scream.

Still, his lust for his own vices held onto a chosen few: the taste of apples, the smell of blood, the woman in black. They were all that were left of his humanity.

_Humanity had no place in the world of death. And all traces of it would soon fall away. _

_They will all fall away...like the final shuddering breath of life..._

_And become only of the forgotten..._


	3. 67 Boundaries

A little dash of humor and we have...

67. Boundaries

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"Ryuuzaki, please..."

"Please...what?" The dark haired young man said, brushing a stray hair out of his line of vision.

"You have been staring at me for a rather long period of time." The young woman said, through clenched teeth.

"Oh? Sorry I wasn't aware."

Clara found it hard to believe that Ryuuzaki was ever unaware of what he was doing. On the other hand, she could easily understand that he had little to no awareness of how his actions effected the people around him.

_Sometimes...it's like I'm speaking to a child, _Clara thought despairingly.

"It's just..." Ryuuzaki said, quietly. "You have been at it for quite some time..."

Clara sighed, letting go of the wooden spoon and wiping the back of her hand against her sweaty forehead. "Well, Ryuuzaki, I really don't have the slightest clue as to what I am doing."

"But I gave you instructions..." He said, unrelenting.

"Yes I know-"

"And you said you would give it a try."

"I did say that-"

"But it has been almost two hours since you began..." He said his voice lilting and suggestive.

"Ryuuzaki." Clara said pointedly, her palms slapping loudly against the black marble counter tops. "You could assist me."

But Ryuuzaki just shifted in the bar stool, his arms lazily sprawled across the island in the middle of the narrow kitchen. He was attempted to stretch out the kink in his back, but it was a stubborn one. "I don't think so."

Clara seethed. _Of all the intelligent nerve..._

"Clara's right, Ryuuzaki." Light interjected, his eyes never leaving the newspaper he had spread across his own counter space. He sat on the stool next to Ryuuzaki, one hand managing the corner of the business section, the other still attached to Ryuuzaki. "You were the one that wanted cake, after all."

Clara turned on Light who still refused to look at her. "You could help as well."

Light glanced upwards. His eyes lingered, first on the sink stacked high with messy bowls and measuring cups, next on the pale liquid that Clara had begun to stir. "I don't think so."

It was the same dismissive tone that Ryuuzaki used. Clara pondered the idea of throwing her seventh attempt at cake batter onto both of there stuffy heads. She swallowed the urge. It may be better to poison the frosting. That at least would have a more lasting effect.

As she stewed over other options of vengeance, her stirring became more and more vigorous.

"Clara,"

"Don't interrupt me please!" Clara exclaimed, her voice stiff and shrill.

"Yes but-"

"What!?"

"You're...spilling..." Ryuuzaki said, pointing towards the bowl. His eyes alight with well trained innocence.

Clara looked down and groaned. The hand that held the bowl steady was now covered in soupy batter. She rolled her head back, now truly exasperated.

She crossed the kitchen walking around the other side of the island and turning on the water in the large platinum sink. She thrust her hand under the steady flow of warm water and waited for the pressure to wash away the mess.

"And I thought all women were supposed to be good cooks..." Light muttered under her breath.

"Yes, I was under that assumption as well." L agreed, just as whispery.

Clara spun around, her hands flying to her hips in classic attack mode.

"What did you just say?"

Both boys exchanged a knowing glance and avoided Clara's eyes; Light leaning in as if a certain headline had caught his attention while Ryuuzaki picked at his thumb nail.

"Never mind, I heard you!" She yelped. "All you men, so comfortable with those dying stereotypes. I happen to be a terrible cook who just felt like doing something considerate!"

She undid the loose knot in her apron and tore it off in a huff.

"Amazing, you would actually admit to such a fault so easily." L commented, as if he were analyzing her every action.

Clara blinked puzzled by the light jab. "Well, I-"

"You can't blame her for her own shortcomings, Ryuuzaki." Light said, now fiddling with the links in the chain.

_That's the last time I try to be hospitable... _She thought, turned off by the whole idea of home economics.

"That's it," She said, reaching over the island and grabbing the newspaper from Light. "Break time is over, shouldn't you two be investigating?"

"Well until, Mr. Yagami, Mr. Matsuda, and Mr. Aizawa retrieve the information that I requested on the past employment of each member of Yotsuba, the investigation is at a stand sill." L answered, coolly.

Light was eyeing the paper that was now crumpled in Clara's hand. "And I was searching for any useful information in that paper."

Clara's brows were raised in suspicion. "Now why is that so hard for me to believe?"

"I can't imagine..." L said, matching her musical tone.

"Seriously, out. Am I not aloud one minute of privacy?" Clara pleaded.

"We haven't been down here all morning-"

"No, you just sent Misa over to be babysat until it was time for Mogi to escort her to that press conference in Osaka." Clara snapped tossing the newspaper into the trash compacter.

"Hey!" Light yelled, if halfheartedly.

"Out!" Clara yelled back, pointing to the doors.

"Now that hardly-"

"Ryuuzaki...if you and Light don't vacate my kitchen soon, I may snap." Clara said, massaging her temples slowly. "Now I ask you, are you prepared to see what happens when I snap?"

"We will leave..." Ryuuzaki said, "on one condition..."

Clara's shoulders fell and she propped herself up on her elbows, leaning on the island for support. "And what condition is that?"

"Finish the cake." Ryuuzaki demanded.

Clara eyed both of them carefully, mustering up all the menace she could offer. "I don't think so."

Light and L backed out of their seats slowly. Clara arched her shoulders, sensing victory.

Light turned around heading towards the door. L, however, strayed behind. "If that's how you want to play, Clara. Then you are forbidden from leaving the room until a cake is made."

Light and Clara both stared wide-eyed at the mischievous detective, but he dragged Light out the door before she could utter a single protest.

"Ryuuzaki?" She called. "L?"

_Had he really gone?_

She eyed the small camera that was 'hidden' so conspicuously in the corner above the refrigerator. "I refuse to make you a cake, Ryuuzaki."

She jumped at the scratchy sound of a speaker being turned on. _That would mean you would be bound to the room..._

"Ryuuzaki! This is ridiculous!" Clara said, wanting to pout and whine, but knowing it would do nothing to sway him.

Ryuk had slunk over to the bowl Clara had been slaving over. He dipped one claw into batter and licked the goo into his mouth.

"Blech." He spat, trying to wipe the taste away.

Clara did her best to glare at him without arousing suspicion.

He just shrugged, floating back into the living room. "Well you did say you wanted some privacy..."

Clara sighed, slapping a hand to her forehead.

_So it is true what they say...be careful what you wish for..._


	4. 18 Love

18. Love.

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The Bells.

They always brought so many memories. Memories that swirled in his head and haunted his nightmares.

Until she came into his life.

Clara had floated in as quietly and as gracefully as a stray feather. She was the very first person he had taken the time to notice. The subtle way her lips would twitch just before she smiled. The piercing way her stare would slash through him whenever she felt threatened. The serene way her held would tilt when she spoke. The sweet sound of her voice, as lucid as water.

When he stared into those eyes he did not search for lies, like he did with most people. Instead he would simply gaze into them, wondering what secrets they hid. It was sure that there were many. But she could keep them for all he cared.

One memory had become especially persistent since the day Clara had entered into his existence. Whenever he had a moment to breath he would return to it, puzzled by its vice like hold.

A rainy day at the House of Whammy. The large drops pelted the stained glass windows of one of the many small studies. Watari sat behind a desk of dark cherry wood. A large cigar was still smoking in a black marble ash tray.

"L..." He said, taking up a small navy cloth and cleaning the surface of his glasses. "It is very late."

A small boy sat on the floor. His shoulders were hunched over and a book sat open between his legs. He grunted in response, not bothering to hear the words of his new found guardian.

Watari sighed, an amused smile playing at his cracked lips. "I know I said you could stay up as late as you wanted if you were going to read but...Every youngster needs his sleep."

Watari stood up and rounded the desk. Stacks of books were littered throughout the floor. Some were opened to certain pages, while others ahd been discarded from the moment that they had been opened.

"What exactly are you reading now?" Watari asked, trying to pull some sort of answer out of the boy.

The small boy looked up at his new friend, his eyes as wide as saucers. "Annabel wee~"

Watari raised an eyebrow and knelt down to the ground. "Ann-Ah! Poe, a great writer."

Watari took up the book despite L's protests. "I'll read it to you."

This seemed to calm the boy a bit. He stretched his small hands towards the book, clenching and unclenching. Watari took the boys hand and led him out of the study.

Once he was tucked safely into his bed, Watari cracked open the book again.

"Are you ready?"

L nodded vigorously, his messy bangs bouncing on his forehead.

"_It was many and many a year ago,  
In a kingdom by the sea,  
That a maiden there lived whom you may know  
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;  
And this maiden she lived with no other thought  
Than to love and be loved by me._

I was a child and she was a child,  
In this kingdom by the sea;  
But we loved with a love that was more than love-  
I and my Annabel Lee;  
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven  
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,  
In this kingdom by the sea,  
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling  
My beautiful Annabel Lee;  
So that her highborn kinsman came  
And bore her away from me,  
To shut her up in a sepulchre  
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,  
Went envying her and me-  
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,  
In this kingdom by the sea)  
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,  
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love  
Of those who were older than we-  
Of many far wiser than we-  
And neither the angels in heaven above,  
Nor the demons down under the sea,  
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul  
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams  
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;  
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes  
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;  
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side  
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,  
In the sepulchre there by the sea,  
In her tomb by the sounding sea."

Watari shut the book with a snap and pulled himself out of the chair.

"Sleep well," He said, grinning at the boy.

He dimmed the small chandelier that hung in the center of the room.

"Wait." A small voice called from the bed.

"What is it?" Watari asked.

"What is...love?"

Watari considered the question.

"Love is...whatever you want it to be." He began. "But most importantly, remember this L, Love is real. More real than any other feeling."

The young boy, touched his finger to his nose. His mind was racing, trying to understand what the old man meant. His brow furrowed in tired frustration. "...real..."

Love is real...

"Ryuuzaki? Are you alright?"

"Hmm..?" L mumbled, chewing on his fingertip.

"You seem distracted." Clara answered.

He had not realized that she was even in the room. He gazed at her. Her hair was pulled into a free bun, small strands of wheat blonde hair, fell into her face. In her hand she held a small plate that contained a large piece of vanilla cake.

"Watari asked me to bring this to you," She said, her voice as soft as an ocean wave.

"Oh," he said lamely. "Thank you..."

Her blue-grey eyes brightened. "You're very welcome."

_So...Love is real..._

_...I see now..._


End file.
